The noise of the Weyr trying to rebuild itself caused Anrelo's head to hurt, and his back itched horribly that he ended up being pushed to the edge of the fray. Sighing, he turned from the busy Weyr and moved out toward the Bowl, skirting the sands where the Queen had died with her Rider, and her mate was now guarding her eggs, and heading toward the lake, hoping for peace and quiet.

The tunic that draped tenderly across his shoulders was two sizes to big, as the Healer had stated that he would need to let the burn mark breath to help with the healing. To bad that every time the breeze picked up, it would move his tunic, causing the fabric to graze over his tender blister and cause him to wince, though he refused to whimper. Whimpering wouldn't do him any good. What was done, was done. He would just have to live with the constant reminder that he couldn't help the Queen or the Weyrwoman.

As Anerlo moved toward the lake that was named after the past Gold dragon, he couldn't help but stop and gaze out over the water. He could remember spying on the Gold as she had sun bathed, or had taken a swim within the very lake that was named after her, before . . . . The pain started anew, even as the breeze picked up, moving his tunic and causing the acidic water of the lake to turn choppy, splashing onto the shore and causing several hissing sounds.

Turning his gaze to his left, he spotted two people; one laying at the water's edge, while the other stood, looking out over the water. He was too far to be able to hear, and he also couldn't tell if the two people were male or female. Either way, he wasn't interested in talking, thus he stayed as he was, one arm dangling beside his hip, while the his other hand was resting at his elbow, gripping onto his flesh, trying to keep the scream within him. It may have felt good to come out to the lake named after their fallen Queen and raged at the skies, cursing them for taking the Gold and her Rider.